


Fred's Dilemma

by RurouniHime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Character Death, Established Relationship, F/M, Suicide Attempt, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:31:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred's lost something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fred's Dilemma

It was all well and good to be alive, Fred thought, looking at his arm. All well and good. After all, there were so many people who just _weren’t_ anymore, and it wasn’t as if they’d had time to really think about what it must mean to die, to see death coming. To ponder what the expressions on your loved ones’ faces would be when they found your body. It took time to think about these things and not many people had the time.

Fred figured he had about thirty more seconds.

But really. Did there have to be so much blood? The idea had charmed him at first. Bloody, coughing – well, alright, he didn’t exactly expect that a slit wrist would make him cough, but the Muggle movies his dad brought home before the war always had their heroes bleeding and coughing dramatically – lying in the middle of the floor watching how long it took for the ceiling to grow dim. Dim enough to disappear. But there was blood all over his chest now, he seemed to have quite a lot of the stuff in him, and on his trousers, and for a moment he wondered if maybe George’s blood had gotten mixed up inside him when there hadn’t been a body to house it anymore.

The door slammed open, the lock finally giving way, and he heard her shout his name.

“Fred! Fred, my god, what the hell do you think you’re doing! Give me that, oh my god, Fred, hold still, what have you done?”

Angelina was really quite pretty. He kept meaning to tell her that, but the words always stuck in his throat nowadays. He had to think of endings, you realize, all on his own. And that sort of thing can certainly shrivel your vocal chords. He tried again.

“S’alright, Angelina, it’s only a small wound, you can tell because—”

And he stopped and waited, but there was no answering statement. Well, Angelina answered. She wrenched the knife from his fingertips and flung it away. It clattered against the wall, leaving a long red stripe down the yellow paper. Her shirt was off in a second, leaving her in that lace bra he thought was so lovely. It set off her skin tone very nicely indeed. He thought she might need some more white shirts.

“Fred, why, _why_ did you do this?” She was bundling his arm up in that pink cotton shirt. Fred was a little nonplussed. It had been a birthday gift from him after all. Angelina fumbled her wand from her jeans, pulled the shirt free again, and ran the wand-tip up and down the long slice from wrist to elbow, poking him a bit as she did. He winced because he thought she would expect it.

“Your mother is going to kill me when she finds out. Don’t you think once a week is enough? I can handle once a week, Fred, just give me a bit more warning next time. Tuesday was not particularly nice, Fred, I had no idea what pills you’d taken and then... there, you’ve used my best paring knife, and my carpet is all red now and I bloody well didn’t sign on for this!”

Her voice had been getting higher and higher, twingeing with hysteria, and at the last sentence, the instant his wound had closed up, she broke right there and fell into his arms. Her hands were on his shoulders and she was sobbing and sobbing. Fred had never seen anyone cry like that, not even when Oliver Wood had had his nose nearly busted off of his face second year, and Angelina didn’t cry like that.

“I love you, Angelina,” he said, patting her head.

She wiped her eyes with one hand, tracking his blood across her cheeks, and kissed him. He felt a warmth there in her lips. It was the same one he felt at night, wrapped around her and covered in quilts and blankets, when he didn’t think of pills or knives or George. Just her. He tasted blood.

“Fred, why can’t we just go back? We were fine, you were fine. I just want to be your girlfriend again.”

 _How can you be his girlfriend—_

"—when you don’t even like me?” he asked curiously. She would smile at that; it had made her laugh until she’d snorted soda up her nose the first time they’d said it. He wanted her to smile. He couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t smiling.

Angelina looked at him with watery eyes and sighed.

“Fred, we’re going back to your mum’s tomorrow.” She shook her head, kissing him hard enough to clack their teeth together. There were tears running down her cheeks. “It’s been half a year, and you have to let this go. I can’t seem to help you, everything I do, nothing helps, and then you just... do this... and I...”

“I wasn’t trying to, Angelina.”

“I know.” Her hands traced his face. “I know you weren’t. You just... aren’t whole anymore.”

He pressed the tip of his thumb to her nose. A button nose. Cute. He’d always thought so. “You make me whole.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t. If I do, then why do you do this?”

Fred looked at her. He wondered if she would understand how it felt to have too much blood in his veins, to hear a voice in his head. She looked as if she might, just for a second. “I have to get him out.”

Angelina began to cry again. She pulled his face to hers and kissed it, and he wanted her so badly. He tugged her down on top of him and felt for her bare skin.

“I love you, Fred, I love you, do you hear me? I love you, I love you, love you...” A mantra. He rather liked it. It was relaxing and it made him want her so much. He thought it might be easier on her if he went tomorrow instead. She could be out shopping or something, and she would have had him completely the night before, he would make sure of it. But he thought she might be too smart for that. He didn’t think she would leave him alone.

He didn’t want to be alone. It seemed that nowadays that was all he was.

But come to think of it, he didn’t want to hurt her. Her. Her. The world was just her again, thank goodness. It wasn’t even him anymore.

The carpet was rather bloody, and he couldn’t imagine why. Perhaps he’d done something a bit stupid again.

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic a long time ago. 2004. And now that canon's done, looking back on it, it takes on a whole other level for me. Intriguing to re-read after all this time.


End file.
